


To Tame a Sith

by shadowmaat



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dubious Consent, M/M, Qui-Gon being extra Qui-Gony, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-20
Updated: 2018-11-23
Packaged: 2019-08-26 06:20:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16676191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowmaat/pseuds/shadowmaat
Summary: Quick thinking allows Qui-Gon to capture a mysterious Sith assassin on Tatooine; a Sith who's also a Nightbrother. Maulfascinateshim, and he finds himself drawn again and again to the prisoner's cell. He wants to figure out how such a contrast came to be. He wants to learn who Maul is. He wants... a lot of things.





	1. Qui-Gon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SLWalker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SLWalker/gifts).



Qui-Gon Jinn slipped past the guards and stood outside the cell, staring. The prisoner- _his_ prisoner- looked better than the last time he’d seen it. Clearly Vokara Che’s insistence on feeding it a proper diet had done wonders. The sharp-boned gauntness was gone and the added weight was in solid muscle. It was stripped down to nothing but sleep pants, giving him an excellent view as it worked though katas.

He remembered when the creature first attacked him on Tatooine. It had been wrapped in a voluminous black cloak with only its face showing. The stunning red and black skin marked the zabrak as a Nightbrother, but the crimson lightsaber indicated it was a Sith. An unexpected combination.

 _Anakin_ had obeyed his orders to retreat to the ship, but _Obi-Wan_ had defied them by rushing to join the battle. It forced Qui-Gon to abandon his effort to draw out the fight in order to learn more about his mysterious opponent. Obi-Wan would try to kill the creature, and that wasn’t to be tolerated. He’d flung up a cloud of sand, blinding Padawan and Sith both.

Had the ground been level and had the wind not been blowing the Sith might have succeeded in disengaging from the fight long enough to recover, but, tricky footing and a poor choice in wardrobe conspired against it. It fell, and Qui-Gon was on it in an instant. Capture was easy after that, even with Obi-Wan providing a loud distraction.

The witches of Dathomir kept their slaves close, but the few who were sold offworld were generally found in the higher-class brothels. Their exotic looks kept them in high demand. What had driven a creature meant for plush bedrooms into the harsh sands of Tatooine? It was a puzzle Qui-Gon had every intention of solving.

Then, he’d been constrained by time and the people around him. Now, there was nothing to stop him from watching. The way its muscles rippled under that patterned skin was almost hypnotic. The Sith moved like the predator it was; every shift, every twist had a purpose. Though it carried no weapon it clearly held one in its mind’s eye. Qui-Gon watched it vanquish invisible opponents. Its bare feet danced across the floor with fluid grace, the huff of breath during certain moves the only sound it made. Mist curled from its skin as hot blood met cold air. Metal gleamed at its throat and wrists; Force inhibitors imposed by the Council.

He hadn’t realized he’d drifted closer until he felt the tingle of the energy field at the cell’s entrance. He stopped, blinking. The Sith, whom Vokara insisted be referred to as Maul, pivoted, and Qui-Gon flinched as the imaginary lightsaber stabbed him through the chest.

“Like what you see, Jedi scum?” Maul’s lips curled back, revealing teeth that were no longer blackened and sharp. Its horns, too, had been blunted. Its eyes were still bright yellow, bleeding red at the edges.

“That was very impressive,” he said, breathing in the creature’s scent. “Ataru, yes?”

Maul sniffed, turning its- his- back on him as he padded to the other side of the cell. It gave Qui-Gon an uninterrupted view of the red diamonds that raced down his spine before disappearing under the waistband. The thin material of the pants clung to every curve and Qui-Gon found his imagination straying into forbidden territory. He cursed the monster’s Nightbrother heritage. What was he hoping to accomplish with this seductive display? Qui-Gon was a seasoned Jedi Master; he could control his baser impulses.

“Your Master trained you well,” he said as Maul began a series of sinuous stretches. “It’s a pity he abandoned you.”

Maul said nothing, keeping his back to Qui-Gon. It was a calculated insult, but attractive as well.

“You would have made a fine Jedi.”

Maul’s hands curl into fists before relaxing; the only sign he heard the comment. And then he bent down to touch his toes. Qui-Gon’s breath caught.

If he hadn’t been due to speak with the Council he might have stayed longer, but as much as he wanted to plumb the depths of the Sith Nightbrother he had other priorities as well. With one last lingering look, he left.

The Council remained stubborn about his desire to take Anakin as his Padawan, citing his age, his background, and his emotions as reasons why he shouldn’t be trained.

They also reminded him that he already had a Padawan. As if he could forget. He’d been manipulated into taking on Obi-Wan. He was a mediocre student at best, despite Qui-Gon’s efforts to teach him. He’d also grown up to be sullen and sarcastic, traits unworthy of a true Jedi.

Still, he’d done everything in his power to convince the Council that Obi-Wan should take his Trials of Knighthood, only to have it backfire. It was pointed out that two weeks prior he’d told the Council Obi-Wan needed another year at least. The only way he could get out of it would be to Renounce him.

Obi-Wan had gone rigid at his side at that. Renouncement was second only to being cast out of the Order in terms of shame. It was a statement that a Master found his Padawan unteachable and beyond help. In the one instance Qui-Gon knew of it happening, the Renounced Padawan had eventually been sent to the AgriCorp. Since Obi-Wan had already been sent there once it might soften the blow. And maybe it would make him realize this was the Force’s way of saying he was never meant to be a Knight.

In the end, of course, he got his way. Between events on Naboo and some coaching from Qui-Gon, Anakin managed to convince the Council he was worthy to be trained. They were less convinced that Renouncing Obi-Wan was “for the best,” but it wasn’t long before Anakin was moving into Qui-Gon’s quarters. He kept asking questions about Obi-Wan, but when Qui-Gon told him that it wasn’t his place to know he fell quiet. Obedient as always.

If anyone noticed Qui-Gon being more tired they attributed it to the rigors of keeping up with such a young Padawan. It had the benefit of being mostly true, but it was also because the only time Qui-Gon could manage to sneak down to the cells was after Anakin was asleep.

It took months to crack Maul. He knew the Council had someone assigned to work on him, too, but _he_ was the one who knew Maul best. _He_ was the one who spent hours watching him, talking to him, building up trust. And when Maul finally decided to talk, _he_ was the one listening. Qui-Gon drank in that beautiful voice, ignoring the immature insults mixed into the crumbs of information. Maul was learning to trust him. What more could he accomplish? For all that Maul was clearly steeped in the Dark Side, he was also… pliant, in some regards. Qui-Gon was confident that a steady hand could lead him back to the Light. And what an incredible achievement it would be if _he_ was that guiding hand!

It wouldn’t be easy, of course. He’d done a lot to tame some of Maul’s wilder aspects, but he could still be dangerous. Most of his time seemed to be spent working out; keeping those sculpted muscles taut and showing off his startling flexibility. Qui-Gon was beginning to think it was a deliberate taunt. He wanted nothing more than to respond to it, but knew he needed to tread carefully. Letting Maul out of his cell was out of the question, of course, but letting himself _in..._

Getting access to the code for the energy field proved complicated. At one point he had to bear through a conversation with Plo Koon, wherein the venerable Master mentioned that he had decided to take on Obi-Wan and complete his training. Why he had bothered, Qui-Gon couldn’t fathom, though listening to Plo drone on about how accomplished Obi-Wan was did reassure him that at least _some_ of his training had stuck. Plo was also of the belief that Obi-Wan should have been ready to face his trials a long time ago. Qui-Gon had the good grace not to tell him “I told you so.”

When he finally managed to extricate himself from Plo’s presence it was with the code firmly in his mind. All that talking had at least provided a nice cover as Qui-Gon used subtle manipulations of the Force to slice his way into the datapad Plo had conveniently left on a nearby table. With Council-level access, retrieving the codes was a snap. It was obvious that the Force wanted this as much as he did.

The wait that night seemed interminable. Anakin was being clingy and didn’t want to go to bed. Qui-Gon finally had to resort to Force suggestion to get him into his own room. As soon as the boy was asleep he was out the door.

Maul was waiting for him, dressed in nothing but sleep pants, as usual. He’d dimmed his lights and the shadows seemed to wrap around him, blending with his black markings to make him look even more ethereal. Qui-Gon felt warm, even in the chill of the cells.

“I wondered if you’d come tonight,” Maul said.

“Of course I came.” Qui-Gon smiled, drinking in the sight. “But are you sure you’re ready to take the next step in our little arrangement?”

Maul made a show of stretching. “Of course… _Master.”_

That word and the little smile that went with it sent heat pooling downwards. Qui-Gon strode over to the panel on the wall and input the code to dissolve the field.

Maul was on him in an instant, but he was ready for it, flinging him back into the cell and then pinning him to the cold stone floor.

“I’m disappointed in you, Little One,” he said. “Did you really expect that to work? I know they breed intelligence out of Nightbrothers, but-”

Maul tried to spit in his face, but he deflected it.

“But I’d hoped you might be an exception.” He shook his head, causing his long, graying hair to cascade from his shoulders.

“I am not a Nightbrother,” Maul said, “I am a _Sith!”_

“Perhaps, but underneath all that anger and hatred you’ve learned there’s still your genetics.” Qui-Gon smiled. “You can’t escape your heritage any more than you can escape the horns on your head.”

Maul bucked beneath him, grinding their hips together. Little jolts of pleasure shot through his limbs, and while he was distracted the captive Nightbrother managed to throw him off and scrabble into the back corner of his cell.

Qui-Gon stood and dusted off his robes, well aware of the feral yellow eyes watching him from the darkness.

“Do you want to do this or not?” He asked.

There was a long pause before Maul replied.

“Do what?”

The wariness was palpable and underneath it was a sense of confusion. Qui-Gon laughed. He could almost believe the ignorance of the question, but while Maul was young- so very very young compared to him- he knew for a fact that Nightbrothers were initiated as early as thirteen. There was no way Maul was as innocent as he acted and his previous actions, the strutting and bending and flexing whenever Qui-Gon was around, proved it.

“You know what I want,” he said. “You want it, too.”

He faced the corner, waiting. After several long minutes Maul stepped forward, into the light.

“I want the Jedi dead!”

The soft voice and the anger behind it sent a shiver up his spine.

“No, you want to teach them a lesson,” he corrected. “We both do. They think they know so much about the Force, about Darkness and Light. We can prove them wrong.”

Maul took another step forward, eyes narrowing. “How?”

Qui-Gon reached out, brushing his fingers against Maul’s skin, tracing those lines he’d been dreaming about. So many stories warned about the seductive power of the Dark Side, but why couldn’t it work in the other direction? Why not seduce the Dark back to the Light? His detractors might call him a rogue, but they couldn’t deny that he was one of the greatest Jedi. He was more than powerful enough to resist the manipulations of some upstart Sith apprentice forty years his junior.

He took a step closer, tilting Maul’s head back to gaze into those bright, knowing eyes.

“Let me show you,” he said.

 _Mine,_ he thought, bending down to kiss his newest project. For the briefest flicker of time the room grew colder.


	2. Maul

It was a simple mission, but a vital one: kill the Jedi. The fact that his Master was entrusting  _ him _ to do it was heady. Empowering. He would not fail. The long-haired Jedi was old and alone, making him an easy target. The boy was nothing, but he was important to the Jedi and killing him might have further weakened his enemy. He took a swipe, but missed. The boy ran. No matter. He’d kill the Jedi first and then slaughter those on the ship.

Maul engaged, leaving the Jedi no room to to think and no opportunity to attack, only defend. With youth and strength on his side it would only be a matter of time before he wore the other down and killed him. 

Except the damned Apprentice joined in. Two to one evened the odds a bit, but his victory was still assured.  _ Should _ have been assured, if the fight had remained honorable. The cloud of sand flung into his eyes blinded him, but not enough to leave him defenseless. The Force still showed him where his opponents were. He stepped back to regroup… and felt his boot catch on the hem of his cloak. Within seconds he found himself pinned to the burning sand and weaponless.

It was the Master. The one who had cheated. He sneered up at the blurry features looming over him.

“Well,” the Jedi said. “It seems the Force has provided for this situation.”

Cold metal closed over his wrists, binding them together.

“I knew there must be a reason I forgot to return these to Watto.”

Did the fool really think binders were going to stop him? Maul fought, bucking free and trying to pull the binders apart with a combination of strength and the Force. Electricity coursed through him, arching his back and locking his jaw together. He fought that, too, until the darkness claimed him.

His recollections remained muddled for a time. He could remember voices arguing about him; angry, fearful, curious, cautious. Every time he fought he got shocked again. Why couldn’t he overcome it? Was he weak? His Master would be furious with his failure. But he hadn’t failed yet, he was just biding his time. There’d be another opportunity soon and then he’d show them who was stronger! The Jedi would fall as they were meant to do!

He was more clear-headed as he was dragged into a circle of waiting Jedi. His hearts pounded in his chest. This could only be the Council, the heads of the Jedi Order. There were many of them and only one of him, shackled, weaponless, and cut off from the Force by a collar and cuffs. Did his Master expect him to kill them all? He listened as they discussed him. As if he were an animal. The Jedi scum who’d tricked him stood nearby, informing the Council that the Sith had returned. The Council… doubted him. Even with the proof standing right in front of them they questioned it. He smirked; these Jedi were even bigger fools than his Master had said.

“Release me,” he said.

They looked at him. Rather than cower, he straightened his shoulders, standing tall to glare back at them. His outer cloak had been removed, leaving him only in an undertunic and pants. No matter. Power was more important than appearances.

“Sith you may not be, but Dark, yes,” a shriveled green Master said. “Strong with you it is.”

Maul curled his lip back, enjoying the wash of surprise and revulsion from the nearest Masters as they saw his teeth.

“I can assure you, he is most certainly a Sith.”

The old Jedi pulled something from his cloak. It was all he could do not to lunge and grab it. His saberstaff! How  _ dare _ the dishonorable scum sully his weapon with his filthy Jedi hands?

The blades were ignited, revealing crimson beams. The hum was soothing, but holding the staff himself would be better. Killing everyone in the room would be best. His Master could not fail to praise him for such an accomplishment!

“Concerning this is,” the green creature said. “But proof it is not. Much to debate you have given us.”

“Have him taken to the Healers,” a black human said. “We’ll see what Vokara has to say about this.”

Guards escorted him from the room at that point, but he heard the troll speak again.

“Master Qui-Gon, more to say have you?”

The doors closed on the conversation. He attempted to elbow the guards to free himself, but while he succeeded in biting one of them they kept their hold on him, all but dragging him to their “Healers.”

The blue-skinned twi’lek woman they handed him over to was unflappable and dealt with him with the same kind of clinical efficiency he remembered in Deenine. He wasn’t intimidated by her, but he did learn the value of proper behavior while she had him in her domain. She had him bathed, and he’d never admit how good it felt to be rid of the sand of Tatooine. She found simple clothing for him in the muted brown colors the Jedi favored. When he tried to refuse he was informed it was that or go naked. In the end, pride won and he accepted the cursed clothes. They were soft and warm and he most definitely did not like them.

His attempt to refuse food failed, too. He awoke strapped to the bed with a needle in his arm and the vicious healer reading off a list of his various nutritional deficiencies. There was nothing  _ deficient _ about him, but the needle was humiliating, so he reluctantly agreed to eat. His Master was bound to show up soon anyway and then there’d be death and destruction everywhere. The Jedi would regret having imprisoned him!

Life was tedious with the Healers, but he could feel himself growing stronger and some of the old aches he’d grown used to ignoring seemed to fade. Something called a  _ mind healer _ showed up sometimes, but their attempts to try and get him to talk were laughable. Jedi might love the sound of their own voices, but  _ he _ knew better than to overshare. The few times he made the mistake of saying anything, it got written down in a datapad. He hated that.

Sometimes a member of the Council showed up to check on him as well, usually the green creature who called himself Master Yoda. Everyone deferred to him so he had to be powerful, but it was hard to see why. He was small and bent and his voice creaked like a rusty hinge. Whatever reason he had for nosing around, he was doomed to fail and the Force collar meant he couldn’t read anything anyway. Not that the Force collar was the  _ only _ thing keeping him out of Maul’s mind. Among the many harsh lessons taught by his Master was that of shielding. No one would be able to detect him if he didn’t allow it. Take the collar off and they’d all be dead before they could sense his intent. His Master would be proud.

Never seen but occasionally heard was the old Jedi he’d failed to kill on Tatooine. The twi’lek woman kept sending him away, no matter how much he coaxed or insisted he had the right to be there. When she wasn’t there her staff refused on her behalf; the sign of an imposing Master. He almost wished they would let him past because then he’d have a chance to kill him. He wouldn’t even need the Force to do that. Maybe that was why they refused. 

Whatever. His Master would arrive soon enough and that Jedi fool would be among the first killed. He’d take great pleasure in the old man’s death, in watching the light go out of his eyes as he realized what a terrible mistake he’d made in bringing him here.

Eventually his time with the Healers came to an end and he was moved to a cell. Cold. Remote. No windows. He knew there were guards, but he rarely saw them. He rarely saw anyone, other than the damned mind healer. It was a dull existence that he filled with exercise, a task made easier because they traded out his binders for wrist cuffs.  _ Force suppression _ wrist cuffs. He wondered if he was finally making them nervous.

He settled into a routine, building up his body and strengthening his mind. The Force was a valuable tool, but if the Jedi thought he needed it in order to be dangerous then it would prove a fatal mistake on their part.

He sensed the new presence one day but didn’t allow it to distract him. From the corner of his eye he could see the long-haired old Jedi watching him like a clawbird with a fresh piece of meat. He was not some corpse to be plundered, however. When he reached the end of his exercise he plunged his imagined weapon into the Jedi’s chest and was gratified to see a flinch.

“Like what you see, Jedi scum?”

“That was very impressive. Ataru?”

Maul didn’t know what the Jedi’s game was, but he wasn’t about to play. He turned his back on him and continued to exercise. Such an unworthy opponent didn’t deserve the slightest courtesy.

“Your Master trained you well. It’s a shame he abandoned you.”

Rage flared, but he kept it contained, channeling it into his stretches. His Master had  _ not _ abandoned him! He would come! He wouldn’t leave his favored tool to rot here in Jedi hands! But perhaps this was another test. Was he meant to find a way to escape on his own?

“You would have made a fine Jedi.”

He clenched his fists at the insult. He  _ would _ escape. He’d show that fool that he was far superior in strength and skills to any soft-headed Jedi! All he needed now was a plan and the right opportunity to strike.

The Jedi showed up time and again, sometimes just watching and sometimes attempting to talk to him. There was something off about the encounters that made him wary. Certain looks and actions reminded him of his dealings in the lowest levels of the worst cities. The wrong kind of predatory. He’d had close calls with that sort before, but hadn’t expected to encounter one in the heart of the Jedi Temple. It brought a vicious joy to find proof that the Jedi who thought so highly of themselves could be just as corrupt as everyone else.

Time wore on and with it he found his convictions growing as blunted as his horns. Even the Jedi prowling outside his cell began to affect him. The taunts about his Nightbrother heritage meant nothing, but his Master’s failure to help and his own inability to come up with a workable escape plan were discouraging. There were also times when the Jedi praised him and he knew he was in trouble when that began to matter to him. Even the mind healer had given up on him. The guards remained silent at mealtime and never lingered. This weak, hairy old Jedi was the only contact he had with the rest of the universe and he hated it. He also craved it.

Was he being left to rot in this cell forever? He’d failed his mission. He’d failed his purpose. What was left for him? How could he prove himself? And to whom? 

Some answers were provided the next time the Jedi showed up. The old man had been promising a chance for them to be together.  _ How _ hadn’t been clear, but after a mocking greeting of “Master” Maul watched the Jedi walk over to the panel that controlled the energy field. His hearts sped up and as soon as the barrier was gone he attacked.

The attempt was easily thwarted and left him pinned to the cold stone floor of his cell under the bulk of the Jedi. It was embarrassing. He was embarrassing. How had he become so weak?

“I’m disappointed in you, Little One. Did you really expect that to work?”

Even his captor was disappointed in him. 

“I know they breed intelligence out of Nightbrothers, but-”

“I am not a Nightbrother, I am a  _ Sith!” _

Failure or not, he was getting tired of being called something he wasn’t. He endured the Jedi’s pedantry as he gathered his strength and then flung the old man off him so he could escape to the corner of his cell.

“Do you want this or not?”

He had no idea what the Jedi was talking about. Fighting? Escaping?

“Do what?”

“You know what I want. You want it, too!”

Thoughts of slums and the “recruiters” for brothels filled his mind. He was better than that. Stronger. He wouldn’t be taken in so easily. Would he? He took a step closer to the waiting Jedi.

“I want the Jedi dead!”

It was true, now more than ever. But then the Jedi started talking, his voice soft but earnest. He spoke of lessons that needed to be learned. Of Jedi who didn’t know as much as they thought they did. He spoke of a partnership. In some ways he almost sounded like Maul’s old Master and he found himself drawn to that. Drawn in, drawn closer. Seeking help from a Jedi was lower than low, but what if it could bring down the Order? Would his Master take him back then?

A pale white hand traced the markings on his bared skin. It gave him an oily, unpleasant feeling, but he tolerated it. He’d suffered worse over the years, he could suffer this. He had a plan now, didn’t he?

He allowed his head to be tilted back and gazed into eyes that seemed more yellow than blue.

“Let me show you.”

The Jedi kissed him. He managed not to pull away in revulsion. Instead he made himself grab the Jedi’s hips. No lightsaber hung on his belt, but there was still a chance. The field hadn’t reactivated when the Jedi entered the cell and he didn’t think the fool had noticed. The old man pulled him into an embrace, but Maul’s eyes were on the cell entrance. He could endure this while he had to and then? Then he’d be  _ free. _

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to my betas for hand-holding and advice.


End file.
